Salvation
by AB115
Summary: "The writer in him wants the sky to be overcast, with maybe some rain, or – better yet – loud claps of thunder. He's writing some dark, stormy scene in his head, lost among the words, so he doesn't notice the men behind him. He doesn't notice anything until a second before it all happens. And then, it's too late. Everything goes dark." Post Killshot AU
1. Chapter 1

It's lonely.

It's lonely almost all the time. There's the slight reprieve during the day at the precinct, when she's surrounded by people, an endless stream of activity that leaves most daylight hours behind before she even feels like she can take a deep breath.

And being with her team, with her boys, helps.

But it's also a reminder. A reminder that they have their lives, that they aren't set apart the way she is.

They have friends and families and lovers and people whom they let in, whom they spend their time with.

She has the dark. While she yearns for their openness, their happiness, their peacefulness, she also cowers. In some ways, she craves the darkness. Knowing it is, in its own way, safe. Self-protective.

But knowing that he loves her, that the man who works the hardest she thinks anyone ever has to get through to her – harder than her mother when she was struggling through her early teens, certainly harder than her father during the years following her mother's death, and harder still than her father once he sobered, once he realized how badly he had broken everything – is, in its own way, completely devastating.

When she sat on those swings, when she looked him in the eyes and she all but promised him _someday_, she was sure she was telling the truth. She was sure she could do it. Jump in. Be with him. Start something and then see it through. Forever.

But now she just chokes on the tears that burn her eyes, on the panic that rips through her every night. On the bone crushing desolation that both exhausts her and prevents her from resting.

Chokes on the realization that she was lying to herself. To him.

Chokes on knowing that she's going to break him one day. One day soon. One day when she pulls him aside and asks him to leave. Lies to him, tells him she couldn't love him, not now. Not ever.

Forces him out so he can move on.

This thought, this firm belief, gives her some strength. Makes her feel a little power, a little control when everything around her is crumbling.

Actually. Maybe tomorrow. She'll tell him tomorrow.

Then he can head back towards the light, where he belongs.

And she can be left alone, in her darkness, but at least back to where she only has herself to worry about.

She hates being responsible for someone else's heart when hers is just barely beating.

* * *

She gets in early, earlier than usual. She's thought this through. Calmed herself down. Even made her own coffee, as if to reassure herself that she is capable of doing this on her own. Capable of going back in time, back to where she needed no one.

She has it all set out in her mind. How she'll lead him into a conference room. How she'll calmly lay it out for him. How she won't allow herself to crumble in front of him, because that's not fair.

How she'll tell him that she does remember, that she never forgot.

How she'll watch the realization of that hit him, watch him believe that her silence was confirmation of his worst fear.

And then. She'll watch him walk away.

* * *

He strolls in, trying to keep a smile on his face. It's been more difficult lately. Watching her fall apart and having to physically restrain himself from going to her has been exhausting.

Reminding himself that she wants this, too, that she is just working, or waiting, or doing anything to move forward, is just as hard, just as exhausting.

He hopes. But this hope is drowning him.

He isn't sure how much more of this his heart can stand. It pumps his love for her through his veins all day, every day.

And then her face, tight with stress, her eyes, so vacant, so far away, herself held so far apart from him, a constant reminder that she's not there. _Yet_, he tries to tell himself. Not there _yet_.

Despite all the small steps it felt like they were taking, it seems like the last couple of weeks has taken it all back, ripped it all to shreds.

And he can't help thinking that, if that's all it takes, if the foundation of this is so shaky that it crumbles so easily for her, it might never have a chance to get off the ground.

Still, he hopes. That's his nature, really, to hope, to reach for magic. He just tries to keep it to a minimum.

When he finally makes it to her desk, he notices immediately that something is off.

Oh. She's made her own coffee.

His heart sinks. This doesn't bode well.

He clears his throat to get her attention, and she is slow to react. Slow to drag her eyes to his face.

His gut twists.

He knows better than to sit down in his chair. He knows better because he can read her. And he can see her pushing him farther away.

"Hey." Her voice is soft, but raspy. From lack of use or lack of sleep or abundance of tears, he can't be sure. But it's not good.

He's silent a moment too long. He knows. He takes a deep breath, puts down both coffees.

"Hey." He manages to push that sound through his lips, tries to twist his lips into a smile.

Her responding grimace tells him he didn't do such a good job.

She's suddenly standing. "Can we talk?"

Time slows down. The air thickens. He can't swallow past the lump in his throat.

He can't respond, just follows her as she heads for the nearest conference room.

He knows better now than to hope.

* * *

Once he's past her, she shuts the door. The soft click of it snapping into place helps somehow.

The closing of a door. That's what she's doing. It's simple, really. Just a nudge and it falls into place. She can do this.

He isn't sitting. She wants him to sit. But she doesn't want to sit herself, doesn't want to lose power, so she can hardly ask him to do it himself.

"Beckett, are you. Um. Ok?" The sound is so forced, and the _Beckett_ so obvious, that her chest tightens. Her scar burns.

_Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate._

"Yes." She pauses. "No."

He drops into a chair.

"We need to talk." It's the most clichéd sentence in the universe, she thinks. She's sure he would have something better, something more eloquent to say.

_To the extraordinary KB._

"Oh." That's his only response. It looks like he's already given up, left all his beautiful words behind.

Good. That's good. Easier.

"I don't think you should be here anymore." She forces the sentence past her lips, hopes it sounds as firm as she needs it to.

Against her better judgment, she looks at him. He looks like he's crumbling, crumpling into himself.

She can't breathe.

But then, he's not. He's fortifying himself. He must realize she's not done.

And she's struck by the harsh realization that she's done this to him. That where he was once full of light, full of joy, full of hope, she's made him hard. Shuttered. Closed off.

She hopes that she's not too late, that he can salvage some of his old self back after this.

"From the precinct?" He finally finds his voice, it seems. The glimmer of hope, the clear thought that _maybe not her life, just her job_, is obvious, despite his attempt to hide it.

"No. Well, yes. From the precinct. But I mean anywhere. You shouldn't be anywhere anymore." She forces air into her lungs. "You shouldn't be with me."

"I was never _with_ you." She raises startled eyes back to him, notices how even he seems surprised by that. But he doesn't backpedal.

She wants to joke. She wants to say _semantics, Castle_. She wants him to smile.

_She_ wants to smile.

But she reins it in. No smiling for her. She doesn't deserve it.

"I know." She's surprised by the tenderness that she's infusing into her voice. That's not even what she wants. She wants it to be solid, firm, unbending. Not soft.

"So, what then? You want me out of your life now? You hit a bump in this road you're on, and you're going to kick me out. Going to punish us both." Those are statements, not questions.

She didn't anticipate a fight. He never challenges her. The times he has, he has been booted out. He seemed to learn his lesson.

Maybe this time he can see that his fate is sealed.

This momentarily unbalances her. But then. She collects herself. Remembers the plan.

Go in for the kill, for the sucker punch that she's sure will bring a swift end to this.

"I heard you that day." He immediately looks up at her, his shock betrayed by the flash in his eyes before he manages to school his features. She knows she needs to say it all, to pound this through his skull. "I heard you say you loved me." A pause. He looks like he's going to say something. "I never forgot." She answers the question before it makes it across his lips.

She watches him literally fall forward, watches as her words hit him hard the stomach, watches the air whoosh out of his lungs.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you. But I couldn't. I can't." She is intentionally being ambiguous. She knows she means _I couldn't face it right then because I was so broken_ and _I can't really believe that I'm doing this, that I'm throwing this away_. But she means for his interpretation to go the other way. _I can't love you._

"You won't." His voice is solid again, and she finds that he's straightened.

He's standing. For a moment, she expects to find a challenge in his eyes. What she sees is worse.

It's defeat.

"Ok, Kate." The gentleness of his voice, the use of her first name, sends her stomach free-falling through space. She grips onto the chair in front of her, determined not to let him see her fall. He doesn't need that vision, doesn't need to hold onto the belief – the reality – that this is killing her, too. "I won't do this to you anymore."

That hits her sharply. She falls forward a little more.

But what he says next is so broken, so completely gut-wrenching, that it takes all of her strength to wait until the door closes to fall to the floor.

His voice, so soft, so strained, he whispers two last words to her.

"I'm sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

He walks home, slowly, meandering around the city, intentionally going in the wrong direction.

Trying to prolong the inevitable.

But eventually he has to go home, go to his loft where Nikki Heat lives with him, breathes through him, lures him in.

And where he has Kate's – _Beckett's_ – murder board set up. Where he has that extra information. Where he has the one last connection he thinks he is going to have with her.

When he finally gets home, hours and hours later, he doesn't flick on every light as he normally does. He just heads straight for his study. Stands around for a moment.

It's dark.

He considers taking off his coat, sitting down, giving himself a moment to break down.

But he's afraid he couldn't pull it together after that. And he needs to keep himself together for just a little while longer.

Long enough to go to her apartment with the file, put so neatly on a flash drive. Briefly explain himself.

At least there's that. Now, he doesn't feel like he needs to explain himself so much. She doesn't really deserve it, not after all of this.

He doesn't give himself another moment to hesitate. He shuffles through his drawers, finds it, pockets it, and turns right around.

Right back into the night, towards more pain that he hopes he can withstand.

* * *

She's only marginally surprised by the knock on her door.

She tamps down the silly hope that, unbidden, rises in her chest.

_Maybe he's here to fight for me._

_Maybe I would let him win._

No. No. Not that. Anything but that.

She checks the peephole, confirming her suspicions. Opens the door just enough to see him.

"I'm not here to bother you."

She steps back. This is what's happening. This is what's she done. She wants to reach out, card her hands through his hair. _Not bothering, Rick. Never bothering_.

When she doesn't respond, he continues.

"I just have to give you something. You're not going to like this. I don't like this. But there's nothing else." She hears what he isn't saying. Nothing else to salvage. Nothing else to hold on to.

Suddenly, he's holding his hand out to her, and what appears to be a flash drive is in his palm.

She's frozen.

"Beckett. Take it." His voice is firm.

She reaches out. "What is it?" Her voice surprises her. He pulls his hand away as fast as he can. Doesn't want to touch her. She doesn't blame him.

"After you were..." A breath. "After the funeral. I got a call from someone. Someone who claimed to be a friend of Montgomery's. Someone who claimed to have information about your shooting. About your mother's case."

She steps further back.

He makes no move to follow her.

"He said the information was meant to protect you, that it held some sort of power over whoever was behind this. That it would keep you safe, as long as you stayed away from the case. As long as you stopped investigating."

Her mind is working in overdrive, gears turning, blood rushing loudly.

"So that's why I asked you to stop." He doesn't finish his thought, but she can fill in the blanks. The unspoken words are like phantoms around her. _Because I love you. Because I couldn't stand by and watch this happen again_.

He apparently isn't finished. "I tried to put some things together. All of the new information I have is on there." He takes a deep breath. "I want you to stay away from it. Of course. But. Well. You very clearly don't want my help. So. I guess I have to give it to you. Give you my lie in exchange for yours."

She's stepped completely away from him, has retreated well inside the apartment. He has to raise his voice to reach her, but he still doesn't move forward.

"I meant what I said before. That I'm sorry about putting you in a position where you felt you had to lie. I never meant to make this all worse for you."

She wants to vomit.

"But I'm not sorry about this. I can't be sorry about wanting to protect you. Because even if you don't feel it back, even though you never will, I wasn't lying that day."

She pictures the clear blue sky, the folded flag being passed into the new widow's hands, the sentiment she tried to get across to him.

The hangar. The desperation.

The shot, the tackle, the uproar. The noise. The pain.

And, above it all, floating through. _Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate._

She hears a whimper and realizes a moment too late that, to her utter horror, it's from her. She's also surprised to find that she's sitting, that she's folded herself in half.

But he doesn't go to her.

She hears him take one last fortifying breath, his hand on the doorknob, the agony all over his face.

"Goodbye, Kate."

The door clicks into place.

And her world falls apart.

* * *

She's stunned. Completely and utterly blindsided.

And then she's sick.

She stumbles her way into the bathroom, just barely makes it in time, and launches herself over the toilet.

There wasn't much in her stomach to lose, but it's all gone now.

She leans back, shuffles her way to the side so that she can rest her back against the wall. Her whole body is shaking, the combination of the complete lack of nutrition, of the exhaustion, and the heartbreak all conspiring to tear her down.

She realizes that the drive is still in her hand, clenched so tightly in her fist that it's made an imprint in her palm.

Her breath catches, and she's shocked again by this complete betrayal.

He has somehow managed to – _once again_ – go behind her back on this, keep information from her until he saw fit to release it. On the one thing that is most important to her, most sacred, her center, really.

And it's not lost on her how truly tragic that is, that her mother's murder is the center of her life. But she's no fool. She's not blind. She knows it to be true.

But then his face flashes in her mind, and his words echo in her ears.

_I'm not sorry about this._

This should infuriate her, but it only deflates her. He's not sorry because he believes he was doing the right thing.

Part of her knows that he was, that had he given her this information all those months ago, she would've continued to fall. The ground was already opening at her feet, threatening to swallow her whole.

But she argues with herself, the voice inside her head indignant that _this could've helped_, she wouldn't have been so afraid for her life at every waking moment if she had known that they had left her alone.

She tries to let that fuel some anger, but it doesn't. She knows it's not true.

_I never meant to make this all worse for you._

Ultimately, it's this that stands out. The fact that he can truly believe that his declaration was a burden, a hardship on top of the unimaginable, breaks her heart. That this is what she has led him to believe.

Because it couldn't be farther from the truth. His words kept her alive.

* * *

When he reaches the loft – this time, he takes a cab, is not willing to be among the throng of pedestrians, especially in this bone-chilling weather – he finally lets himself fall. He makes it to his study, then just drops into his chair.

Everything hurts.

He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he is a grown-ass man with a daughter, for god's sake, and he needs to keep it together.

He's been through this before. He can do this. Really.

He stands slowly, slips out of his coat, heads to the well-stocked bar. Pours himself a generous amount of scotch.

Yes. This is how a grown-ass man handles things.

He sits back down, rubs a hand down his face.

Everything is numb. Everything hurts.

It's all a contradiction, much like the woman at the center of it all.

He takes a long drink.

He's been through this before. Had his heart ripped out in the past.

He sees Kyra boarding that flight, is still sometimes haunted by the sight of Meredith in their bed with another man, in the bed where they made their beautiful daughter, who was only just upstairs, sleeping peacefully, an innocent among it all.

The utter dissolution of his marriage to Gina is right there, too. That he can admit was his fault, at least in part. But after so much heartbreak, so much time spent relying on only himself, he had to be a little safer. Less trusting. And that, combined with Gina's inherent coolness, broke them.

Doesn't matter, though, does it? They all ended.

He has his daughter. His mother.

And he's going to stop putting his heart at risk when he stands to lose so much. He can't afford to fall again, not with his daughter right on the cusp of adulthood. She needs a strong role model, needs to keep her belief that love isn't always so painful.

He takes another long drink. Inhales. Exhales.

He can do this.

* * *

She makes her way into bed after the nausea subsided. She straightened up a little, tried to pull herself together. Dropped the flash drive onto her nightstand. Slips between the cool sheets on her bed, the chilled air seeping through the window causing shivers to run up and down her spine.

But lying on her back, she can't close her eyes. She knows she'll be visited by the specters of her past, haunting ghosts and the breath of _almost_ just out of reach.

She runs a hand down her face, surprised to find moisture there. It's as though she's watching this unfold from above, separate from it all.

Self-protective.

But maybe – just maybe – this isn't working. For all the protection she is telling herself she is doing, she sure feels like it all hurts anyway.

At a loss, she fumbles for her phone on the nightstand, hits the first name in her favorites.

He picks up instantly, like she knew he would.

"Katie?"

Her exhale ends up a choked sob, the weight of it all crushing her chest.

"What's wrong?" He sounds terrified. She can hear him getting out of bed, can visualize him stumbling around to get dressed.

"You don't need to come. I just needed to hear your voice. I know it's late. I'm –"

"I swear to god Katie, if you say sorry, so help me – "

"Right. Ok." She almost apologizes for apologizing, stops herself just in time.

"What's wrong?" His voice is soft now, calmer once he's realized that she's not in immediate danger.

"I kicked him out." She knows she doesn't need to elaborate on the _him_ she is referring to.

"Of the precinct?" Huh. She seems to be surprising everyone with this.

"Yes, but not just that. Out of my life." That hurts to say out loud. It makes her scar burn, her heart slam against her chest.

"Why?" He sounds truly dumbfounded, and if she weren't so heartbroken, she'd laugh.

"I don't even know anymore. I just. I can't." She's trying to slow her breathing, stop the tears from escaping again.

"Can't what?" Leave it to her dad to make her spell it out.

"There was a sniper case." She deflects instead. Tried and true method of distraction.

"And?" Ok, maybe not so tried and true. She wants to ask him why he is this alert at this hour, but she knows the answer. For her, anything.

"And it felt like the world was crashing down on me." She closes her eyes tightly against that admission. That's too much. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did. Katie, are you seeing someone about all this?" She definitely wants to laugh at that. Doesn't seem to be doing much good when she's planted her feet so firmly in the ground, backpedaling on all the progress she's been making.

"I am, actually. Since I went back to work." He doesn't try to hide his sigh of relief.

"Can we return to the original problem here? Why did you send him away?"

"I'm scared." Too much again. She wants to hit herself. She probably would if she wasn't too tired to move.

"That's a terrible reason." Is he laughing at her?

"Dad – "

"No, Katie, listen. You know why you're scared? Because it matters. If you weren't scared, _that_ would be a problem, a cause for concern. This is going to be horrifically clichéd, but it clearly needs to be said: The best things in life start out as the scariest. You have to be willing to take that leap. Or else you're going to be left suspended in mid-air, afraid forever. And alone, too." He pauses, lets that sink in, then heads back a little, tries to inject some levity. "That was a lot of clichés. I'm only a little sorry about that."

She chuckles a little. Huh. Interesting. She hasn't lost the ability to laugh.

What does she say to that?

"Look, Katie, I'm not saying you should go bang down his door now. Clearly, you've made enough rash decisions for one day. I'm just saying, you need to think long and hard about what you want your future to look like. Because this – the way you are now – is completely heartbreaking for me. And I know how badly you don't want to hear this, but I'm going to say it anyway: This is very much not what your mother would've wanted."

And cue the waterworks. She knows he can hear her responding sobs through the phone. He's silent for several minutes while she collects herself.

"I don't want to let her down." She knows she's a broken record, knows a professional already told her that that is a literal impossibility.

_She's dead, Kate. You can't let her down._

"Katie. You can only let her down by not living your life. You can only let her down by letting her murder rob you of everything she taught you before our world came crashing down that night. Solving her case? I understand that you want that closure. Trust me, I do. But one day you're going to realize that it's not enough. Solved or not, death is not something to build a life around."

She loves him for this. For hearing her, and not dismissing her. He knows she couldn't be convinced that she couldn't let her down at all.

His voice is rough as he continues. Shit. She made him cry. "Katie, I love you more than anything, and this pains me to know, and is going to hurt you to hear. Just remember that I'm saying it because I love you."

Her heart rate is up again. She's holding her breath.

"What you're doing now is the closest you can get to letting her down." And then he's choked up, and that's more than enough to throw her over the edge.

"I'm sorry, dad. I'm so sorry."


	3. Chapter 3

At some point, she must fall asleep, because the next thing she knows her alarm clock is blaring at her.

She sticks her arm out, slams down on the offending noise, then throws the covers over her head.

Like a child.

She lets out a deep breath. If only she could hide here forever.

Alas, she cannot. She forces herself out of bed, into the shower. Her body has her morning memorized; she hardly needs to think at all.

When she gets to the precinct, however, her brain starts working again. It zooms in on his empty chair.

She tries to shake it off, concentrate on the paperwork she has to address.

She'll deal with everything else. Really. She will.

Just. Not right now.

* * *

He wakes up late the next morning, but can hardly find it within him to care. No call from Beckett means this wasn't a nightmare. It was real.

She's done with him.

Or she never started with him in the first place.

It's hard to reconcile her words with her actions, though.

Ok, ok, enough of that. Grown man, remember? Time to get up.

So he does. He goes through his morning by rote, finds himself sitting at the island in the kitchen.

Great. Now what?

Ok, well he obviously isn't going to write right now. So he decides to go out, get some fresh air.

Being home alone won't do him any good.

He gets himself dressed, somewhat bundled up – the November air is rapidly getting colder – and heads out, with no particular destination in mind.

It's a bright day, too sunny for his mood. The writer in him wants the sky to be overcast, with maybe some rain, or – better yet – loud claps of thunder.

He's writing some dark, stormy scene in his head, lost among the words, so he doesn't notice the men behind him.

He doesn't notice anything until a second before it all happens. And then, it's too late.

Everything goes dark.

* * *

She makes it through the day. There was another body (isn't there always?), and she throws herself into the investigation.

She ignores the boys' stares, dodges their questions about Castle.

And when, at 8:00, she tells them they can go home, she finds herself frozen at her desk.

She doesn't want to go home.

She wants to see him.

She wants to make this right.

She hears her dad's words in her head on loop.

_What you're doing now is the closest you can get to letting her down._

It makes her sick that he's right.

So she gathers herself up and decides to head to his loft. Talk to him. Try to explain herself.

She hopes against hope that he will listen to her. And believe her.

* * *

She gets into a cab right away, not trusting herself to drive. Too many opportunities to change her mind if she's in control of a car.

She's in front of his building in no time at all.

She feels sick. But she pays the driver and forces herself out of the car and into the building, giving the doorman a small wave as she heads to the elevator. Which, of course, is just waiting for her entry.

And, all too soon, she's at his door.

Ok. Well. She hunts murderers for a living. Certainly, she can do this.

Three short knocks, then she digs her hands into her pockets, wills herself to stay in place.

The door swings open, but it's not Castle who answers. Well, it is _a_ Castle. Just not the one she was expecting.

She is wholly unprepared for this.

"Detective Beckett?" Huh, Alexis sounds confused, curious, but not mad. Does she not know?

"Alexis. Hi." Ok, that was awkward.

"What are you doing here? I thought my dad was with you." Wait. What?

"No, he, um. He wasn't with me today. I haven't spoken to him since last night. You haven't seen him?"

"No. He got in late last night and was asleep when I left for school. When he wasn't here when I got home, I assumed he was with you. I haven't seen him since I got home at 3:00." Alexis must see something on Kate's face she doesn't like, because she starts to get nervous. "He wasn't with you?"

"No. He wasn't." This doesn't really make any sense to Kate. It would be one thing if he wanted to get out of the city for a while – she could certainly understand his need for an out – but he would tell Alexis if he was going to do that. He would never leave Alexis behind without explanation.

Apparently she's been silent too long; Alexis seems to be waiting for a response to a question she didn't hear. "Detective Beckett?"

"Sorry. What did you say?"

"Did something happen between the two of you? I mean, he wasn't with you at work but here you are looking for him. I didn't even think to call him to find out where he might be because I assumed. But I haven't heard from him all day. He wouldn't just disappear and not tell me. He'd never do something like that."

"Alexis. Slow down." Kate is glad for her years on the force, years of training to keep calm (or at least appear calm) in high-pressure situations. Because she sure as hell doesn't _feel_ calm. "Why don't you try calling him?" She doesn't add that it needs to be Alexis's name that he sees on the screen because he almost certainly would not take Kate's calls right now. Or maybe ever.

Ok, not that. Not right now.

Alexis seems pleased with this idea. "Right. Ok. Well, come in?" With that, she opens the door wider and moves out of the way, hurrying to the kitchen where she apparently left her phone on the island. Kate shuts the door behind her, quietly, as though she doesn't want Alexis to realize that she plans on staying until this is figured out. That she thinks there must be something to figure out.

While Alexis tries to call, Kate looks around. The loft looks the same. No sign of a struggle.

_Shit_. Why did her mind go there? This is not that. This is anything but that.

"Detective Beckett, he isn't answering his phone. He always answers the phone. He always takes my calls." Kate is suddenly dizzy with the realization that this exact conversation took place just months ago outside a bank; she has to brace herself against the back of the couch to avoid falling forward.

Only this time, she has no idea where he could be.


	4. Chapter 4

Consciousness comes back slowly. Painfully.

His head is pounding.

On a reflex, he tries to bring a hand up to his temple, tries to rub some of the headache away. But he can't. He tugs on his hands but they don't budge.

He forces his eyes open. The room is dark, just a single light bulb above his head.

Well, that's typical. The writer in him chuckles.

But, oh. That hurt. His head is pounding. And his back, too.

He's on a chair, straight-backed, hard. Wood or something.

His hands are tied to the chair, his arms along the arm rests, tied all the way up to his shoulders, where the chord – metal, maybe? – is wrapped around his body and the chair, and again around his abdomen.

His legs have received much the same treatment; tied to the chair at his ankles, below and above his knees, and then around his thighs.

Completely and utterly restrained.

He tries to make out the room around him, but the bulb above him is too bright. It blocks everything else out.

"Good to see you awake, Mr. Castle," a voice suddenly says. It's low, menacing.

"Who are you?" Castle finds his voice isn't as strong as he'd like; it's raspy, his tongue heavy. How long was he out for?

"Come on, you're smarter than that. Stupid question." The man is chuckling. And stepping closer? Definitely walking.

"Where are we?" Castle forces his voice to sound firm, unwavering. It's not easy.

"You've spent years now playing detective. I'm sure you'll figure this all out." This man really seems to be enjoying himself.

"What do you want from me?" Castle is putting all of his energy into not shaking. Not panicking.

It's already exhausting.

"Well that, Mr. Castle, is a question I _can_ answer." He pauses, steps up to the light, comes into focus.

He's a big man, over six feet. Broad. Muscular. Cold, piercing, blue eyes.

Castle tries not to visibly swallow down his fear.

"What I want from you are answers. You are going to answer my questions. You are going to tell me everything you know. And maybe – just maybe – I will let you die a quick, mostly painless death." He pauses, smirks. Walks around so he is behind Castle. Suddenly his voice is a hoarse whisper at his ear. "But jerk me around, and this will go slowly for you. And painfully. I assure you, Mr. Castle, you do not want that."

Castle closes his eyes for a moment, tries to summon up as much strength as he can. "I don't know what you think I know, but I can guarantee you, I don't know it."

"Don't you write books for a living?" The voice is loud again, the man coming around to face him.

"I assume that's rhetorical." He's proud of himself for that one.

Until he gets slapped across the face. Hard. Stars burst behind his eyes. His neck twists with the force of the unexpected impact, shooting pain down his back. The metallic tang of blood is on his tongue. He can hardly catch his breath.

The blue eyes are in front of him again, looming large above him.

"None of my questions are rhetorical, Mr. Castle. That was good practice, though. So let's try this again." He pauses, apparently waiting for Castle to refocus on him. Castle manages to do so, pouring his energy into the action. "Do. You. Write. Books. For. A. Living."

Thoughts are racing through Castle's brain. He's not sure what might happen to him if he acquiesces so quickly. But he doesn't know what else to do. He is completely at this man's mercy. "Yes." Is that what this is about? Another crazy person using his books to kill? Castle summons up some courage. "Who are you?"

"Well, since it's not like you're leaving here, I guess this doesn't matter." The man pauses to smirk at him again, clearly pleased with himself.

"I shot Kate Beckett."

* * *

"Okay, Alexis, just calm down. I'm sure there is an explanation for this." Except, she isn't sure. She isn't sure of anything.

Alexis isn't buying it, either. "Detective Beckett, he wouldn't do this. What's going on? What happened?"

Well. Kate certainly has no plans to explain whatever it was that transpired between her and Castle.

So, focus on this.

"Alexis, first, call me Kate. Please." She pauses, waits for Alexis to acknowledge her. "Thanks. Now, just have a seat. I'll call the boys, have them see if they can track your dad's phone, ok? I'm sure he just went out." She hesitates, feeling like she owes Alexis some explanation. "We had a. Um. Falling out." _Sure, let's call it that, Kate_.

Alexis seems almost relieved at hearing this. "Oh?" She takes another moment, seems to be considering potential consequences. "But still, even if he needed to, you know, blow off some steam, he'd tell me if he was really leaving. He's been gone too long to just be out for a walk. And he'd answer me. He always answers my calls, no matter what."

"I know that. I know. So, I'm going to call the precinct. We'll sort this out." With that, she turns and heads towards the living room, needing some space to make this call. She pulls out her phone, takes a deep breath.

Esposito picks up on the first ring. "What's up, Beckett?"

"I need you to do something for me, but try not to make a show out of it."

"Oh-kay. What's up, boss?" He sounds hesitant, but she knows he'll do it. He's always been the one to back her up, even at his own expense.

"Can you track Castle's phone?" She closes her eyes tight, braces for the questions she can't quite answer.

"You want me to _what_? Why?"

"Alexis saw him sleeping when she left for school, but nobody has seen him since. And he isn't picking up his phone." Oh, and also he gave me a file that has information about my shooter that none of us knew about.

But she's not actually telling him that unless she has to.

Oh god, please let this be anything but that.

"Just, please, Espo? It's not like him to ignore Alexis's calls." She hopes she sounds more confident than she feels.

"Yeah, yeah, ok. I'll call you back."

Her "thank you" is hardly more than a relieved breath. She puts the phone down and steadies herself before she turns to head back towards Alexis.

"So, they're going to see where he is. Espo will call back as soon as he knows something." It suddenly occurs to her that she should probably be in the precinct for this, not bullying her team into it, but no. She'll stay with Alexis, at least for now.

The longer she stays in the loft and focuses on keeping Alexis calm, the longer she can try to make herself believe that everything is just fine.

* * *

Now, Castle really can't breathe. Everything seems horrifyingly clear.

The second he actually does away with the tiny bit of information he had, this happens. The second their partnership crumbles, he's dragged right back into her mother's case.

_This is all my fault_.

He can think nothing else. He's the one that reopened this case all those years again. And for what? It has caused nothing but heartbreak for Kate.

And certain death for all those involved.

Oh god, he is going to be sick.

The man walks back up to him, still with that godforsaken smirk on his face.

"So, Mr. Castle. Make this easy on me. Tell me where the file is." His hands are behind his back, like he's holding something.

Castle tries to breathe through the panic. What is he supposed to say? His only experience in being a hostage seems like a joke compared to this.

Ok, stay calm. Just lead him on enough to stay alive. Surely, someone will realize he's missing.

Crap. Kate wouldn't even think to look for him. She's gone, done, out for good. It's not as though his absence at the precinct will be worrisome for her, or a lack of phone calls.

No, that's all going to seem par for the course at this moment.

Now, all he can think is

_I am not getting out of this alive._


	5. Chapter 5

Kate's sitting on the couch with Alexis, trying to give off an air of confidence (or really anything other than heartbreak and/or panic) when her phone finally rings.

"Beckett." She's sure to use her stock response, her voice steady, to portray some sort of normalcy.

"Hey, boss. So I tracked his phone. It says he's in East Harlem."

"Harlem?" Alexis's head swivels to Kate at that. She mouths _Harlem?_ Kate gives a light shrug, tries to play this off.

But why in the world would Castle be in Harlem after 9:00 at night? Not that that's so late, but it's very strange.

"Yeah, Beckett. I mean, I have it in a building. You want the address?"

"Yeah, yeah, please."

"2353 Second Avenue, between 119th and 120th."

"Ok." A pause. Is this something she needs to investigate? For all she knows, he could be in a bar.

And the last thing she needs is to stalk him on his night out.

And maybe find him with another woman.

But Alexis is looking at her expectantly.

"Can you and Ryan meet me there?" She tries not to sound too hesitant, somewhere between an order and a ridiculous request.

Esposito hesitates for a fraction of second. "Yeah, ok, Beckett. See you there."

She releases the breath she didn't realize she was holding and hangs up the phone. "Ok, Alexis, we have an address. I am sure this is nothing to worry about, but just to be safe, the boys and I are going to check it out. I will call you as soon as I know anything, ok?"

Alexis looks so relieved that Kate finds herself thinking that even if she does walk in on him charming another woman, it just might be worth it.

"Ok, Detect- Uh, Kate." She blushes, pauses awkwardly. "Thanks. I appreciate it." Alexis smiles softly at her, stands when Kate stands.

"Don't even worry about it. We'll talk soon."

* * *

Lost in the downward spiral of his thoughts, he doesn't notice right away what the man is doing.

But the glint off the side of a knife catches his attention.

It's a small blade, less than six inches (legal to carry in the city, his brain inanely supplies). But sharp, certainly.

"I suppose I wasn't clear enough for you, Mr. Castle." His smirk is even more menacing, if that's possible, he thinks (inanely again, really. Now is not the time for supplying descriptive adjectives, brain.).

And then suddenly the knife is being dragged across the skin on his arm.

It's light at first, drawing small little droplets of blood to the surface.

It stings, but just barely. For a moment, Castle has some confidence in himself, in his ability to get through this.

The second swipe is not nearly as gentle. It's a slow, deep pull through his skin, the dragging of the knife feeling like it is pulling him apart.

Looking down, it looks like it's doing exactly that. Opening him up. His eyes slam close, his jaw locked tight.

And then, it's off his skin.

He tries to slow his breathing, his heart rate, swallowing air as discretely as he possibly can.

"Do you understand me now?" He opens his eyes again, finds the man has actually turned somewhat serious.

He's not sure whether or not he prefers the menacing smile.

He doesn't answer. Because the response on the tip of his tongue is _Yes, asshole, I understand you. But there isn't a thing I can tell you. So back the fuck off_.

Not super useful.

So he pauses, gathers himself enough to make his voice clear. "I don't know where it is."

That didn't sound so bad.

But the slap across the face reminds him that he is completely at this man's mercy, and with no way out.

* * *

Kate just barely manages to stop herself from using her lights and sirens to get all the way uptown. But seriously, this is annoying. East Harlem is not only all the way uptown, but also all the way across the city.

If this is Castle at a bar, she is going to kill him for picking the least convenient one in the entire goddamn city.

She crosses to the East Side, jumps onto the FDR, and is actually impressed with the time she's making. It's well past rush hour, and, as she gets higher uptown, traffic thins even more.

Finally, _finally_, she pulls up.

But this is no bar.

In fact, it is a small walk-up apartment building, probably home to a couple of families.

Problem is, the bottom of the building looks like it used to be some sort of establishment. Like, some time in the distant past.

The metal doors are locked up and there's no sign above displaying what business might be inside.

It's abandoned.

So why is Castle's phone inside?

She'd be worried that he was in some strange woman's apartment, but that seems like a stretch. Why would he travel all the way up here when he could so easily pick someone up in his own familiar neighborhood?

As she's wondering about all of this (from the inside of her car; if this is some sort of trap, she's not about to walk in without back-up, not when – besides the completely unfounded nagging fear – there is no legitimate reason to be worried about Castle's safety), the boys pull up alongside her.

Ryan throws up a half salute from the passenger seat, and they pull up to park in front of her, jumping out of the car as soon as it's stopped. Kate follows suit, meeting them halfway on the sidewalk.

"So, Beckett, this is where it says his phone is. Think he's in one of those apartments? Or maybe the signal is off and he's, um…" Esposito looks around, realizes all of the businesses around are closed. "Somewhere else?" he supplies uselessly.

"Hey guys, want to try calling it and see if maybe it's in there?" Ryan finally pipes up.

Kate looks at him, surprised. Blinks. "Yeah, ok. Good call." She fumbles her phone out of her pocket, pulls his number up (out of her favorites, yeah yeah). She waits as it starts ringing.

And then, the ringing sounds from behind the metal grating. She hangs up immediately, completely caught off-guard.

The boys exchange confused looks, then head towards the building, listening intently for voices or any signs of life.

There's nothing.

Beckett nods towards the door and Espo heads to the truck of his crown vic, pulls out a bolt cutter, and walks back over to the locked door.

Ryan lines up behind him, Kate facing him, all with guns drawn, flashlights out, breaths held.

Espo leans down, breaks the lock, then goes to lift the door.

He pauses only momentarily, making sure Ryan and Kate are set, and then he lifts it up just high enough for them to crouch under it.

Quickly, as quietly as possible, they duck under, flashlights down so as not to call too much attention to themselves.

Then, seeing no way to subtly get around what could quite possibly be a very small space, they simultaneously lift their flashlights and announce themselves.

At first glance the room seems completely empty. They run the boarders, open a closet or two, call out that everything is clear.

Then, from the back, Ryan calls out. "Hey guys, you're going to want to see this."

They walk over, and Kate's heart sinks heavily in her chest.

There's a single chair, Castle's phone perched on it as though it is a person sitting up.

Under it is a note.

Bile rising in her throat, hands shaking, Kate reaches for it.

She just barely keeps the vomit down as she reads it over.

She feels the boys breathing behind her as they read over her shoulder, hears the collective intake of breath as their eyes follow the sentences across.

She falls heavily into the chair, the crashing of Castle's phone on the ground just barely registering in her head.

_Dearest Katherine,_

_You did not die like you were supposed to. I know about the file. Castle will be long dead by the time you get your shit together._

_And he will be dead because of you._

_Yours truly,_

_CM_


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the delay. In my defense, law school is really hard.

* * *

"You know what might help you remember things, Mr. Castle? A story. You love stories, don't you?" He pauses, and Castle is sure he is going to make him answer the humiliating question. "Oh, nevermind that. We won't even bother."

He's walking again, slowly pacing; not a nervous thing, certainly. More like a way to unsettle Castle.

And it's working.

"Picture this: A lonely man, writing himself into a corner, bored with life, suddenly finds himself some new inspiration. Some pretty hot inspiration, if I do say so myself."

Castle clenches his jaw tight, even though it hurts, because he knows this is just the beginning. If he takes the bait this early, he is never going to make it.

"But I guess you know that part of the story. All the really climactic parts, too, where you forced her into re-opening her mother's murder. And you set those dominoes falling, didn't you, Mr. Castle? Just threw her in front of it all, pushed her right into the path of my bullet, and for what?" He scoffs, pretends to be concerned. "For a story. You wanted your story. And what a story it has turned out to be."

It is taking all of the little energy Castle has left not to scream at this sonofabitch.

Which is worrisome, because he has a feeling there is a lot worse in store for him ahead.

"So, you open the case, and eventually the people start dying. Most notably, Captain Roy Montgomery. What a shame that was, huh? Must've been terrible for you. Must've been terrible for her. I can't imagine."

He pauses, stops to look Castle right in the eyes. Castle maintains eye contact even as he feels his entire face swelling up.

"Oh, but then it gets worse. In a cemetery, on a bright spring day, I take aim at your dear muse. I feel so good behind that gun. It's all so right. I time it around my heartbeats, _bum bum, bum bum, bum bum_." He pats his chest for effect.

For a trained assassin, he isn't half bad at storytelling.

"And then, in that perfect moment, I take the shot. And bam. Right in the chest. Beautiful, really, if I do say so myself."

"Well, you didn't really do it quite right, did you?" The thought is out before Castle can stop it.

The monologue stops as the man comes to stand in front of him, shoulders set, jaw tight.

_Fuck_.

"She didn't die, Mr. Castle, so I suppose you are correct. If I did it – how did you say? 'quite right'? – we wouldn't be here right now, would we? But, alas, here we are."

He relaxes, walks around to stand behind Castle.

"But I'm not even up to the best part." He's bent over, practically whispering in Castle's ear. "The best part is happening right now, in fact. Actually, I take that back. It's probably not even in motion yet. You've delayed these dominoes, which is really a shame. By the time she gets here, your body will be starting to decay."

He feels the open cuts on his arms throb as he grips the chair tighter, tries to breathe through it.

"You see, Mr. Castle, you set the dominoes falling years ago. But now, I've lined them up. And the way they fall is going to be beautiful."

"What are going to do to her?" Castle can't stop himself from asking the question, no more than he can stop the sharp rise of bile in his throat at the thought.

"Me? I won't do anything to her. Well, not now. Eventually, of course. But not now." He walks to stand back in front of the chair, smirking down at Castle. "But I digress."

He walks away, out of the light where Castle can no longer see him.

And then, from the darkness, his voice comes.

"Pretty soon, someone will notice you are missing. Not as soon as they were supposed to originally, though. You and your dear muse had a falling out, huh? So now, your presence won't even be missed at the precinct. What a shame, really. She doesn't even stand a chance."

He pauses, clearly giving Castle a moment to let the fact that he's been watching sink in. He fights hard against the shudder that wants out.

"When she does eventually notice your absence, I wonder what ever they will do. Oh, I know. I bet they'll try to track your phone. Smart group, really."

He steps closer, so he is standing just inside the light.

"They will track it and they will find it, Mr. Castle. They'll find it with a note, signed by me. And then they're going to start following the clues I've left them, little breadcrumbs here and there to make them think they are accomplishing something."

He steps closer.

"They will follow these things down a perfectly orchestrated path. They will think themselves smart, clever even, as they chase down lead after lead."

Another step.

"Eventually, those clues will lead them to this very spot."

Castle raises shocked eyes to him before he can school his features.

"Oh yes, you like that idea. Your muse will once again be forced to rescue your sorry ass. But guess what, Mr. Castle? By the time she gets here, we will be done. I'll have killed you by then."

Another step, and he is looming large right over him. Castle notices for the first time that his hands have been behind his back since he stepped out of the light, and the last time that happened… _Fuck_. He forces air into his lungs, braces himself for whatever is next.

He keeps talking.

"So, picture this."

Another pause. Some crazed, hidden part of Castle's brain can't stop the thought _this guy can really tell a story_.

"She struggles for days and days – doesn't sleep, doesn't eat, hardly even breathes. After torturing herself over and over and over again, she will finally manage to get here. At first, she'll think she's won. She'll storm in, ready to fight."

He pauses again. Smirks.

"But what she'll find is you. Tied to this chair. Body torn apart. A single bullet in your skull."

Castle feels a low growl stuck in his throat and forces it back down. He can't decide if he wants to lash out or cry. Alexis's face appears unbidden in his mind, but he is unwilling to imagine the horror this will be for her. His mind doesn't allow him to drift too far; it brings him right to Kate, flashes of memory bright behind his eyes. He sees it all, from their contentious beginning and up and up until, just the other day - how long has he even been here? - a violent collapse. And now, _oh,_ now those will be the last things they said to each other.

"I'm sure your picture will look great next to her mother's on those shutters, don't you think?"


	7. Chapter 7

With the note in her hands, Kate feels like the earth has fallen out from under her. She can hardly keep herself upright, but before she can fall to the floor or the chair, Espo has her by the elbow, his voice from far away saying something about preserving evidence and CSU.

Those two words stand out and bring her right back to reality as Espo leads her back outside. She hears sirens coming closer and wonders how long she was standing there.

How much time have they lost?

Her heart rate kicks up again and she turns to face him, horror shining in her eyes.

Esposito sees it and reacts immediately, his voice low but firm. "CSU will be here any minute. He's officially a missing person so we have police resources on the up and up. For now, anyway. I have a bad feeling that there is something here I don't know about."

As he's talking, he's leading her around the block. She feels too lost to even try to resist.

Once out of sight of the uniforms appearing on scene, he takes the note out of her hand – has she been holding it this whole time? – and waves it in her face.

"What file, Beckett? What is going on here?" Sensing her hesitance, he stares her down. "Kate, if you don't tell us, we won't be able to find him. We'll keep it between us as much as possible if that's what you want, but you need to start talking. Now."

She takes a deep breath in, struggles to find her voice.

"Yesterday – " was it only yesterday? it feels like an eternity ago, another lifetime – "Castle came to me." She stops. "Actually, can we not do this here?"

Esposito lets out a breath of frustration, but he seems to understand. "Fine. We'll go back to your place so you can tell us whatever you know."

He starts walking and it's only then that she realizes his hand is still on her elbow. Has he been holding her up this whole time?

She'd be embarrassed if she had room for anything but terror.

Her mind is still reeling as he leads her to the passenger side of his cruiser. "Beckett, I need your keys."

She's confused by the sudden request and her face must show it.

"Ryan is going to drive your car. The keys, Beckett."

Nodding dumbly, she complies. He throws them to Ryan, who has just materialized, and opens the passenger side door for her.

She gets in and manages to pull on the seatbelt as Espo walks around to the driver's side and gets in.

* * *

She stares out the window listlessly as the city flies by, leaving the scene behind. She begins to panic at that thought. How could she leave without investigating the entire place, without going over every single inch of that room? What is she doing heading to her apartment right now?

"Espo, I didn't even look around. What are we doing? We need to go back." The words are stumbling out, probably bordering on nonsensical. He puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, urging her to calm down.

"Ryan looked everywhere. CSU is going to look for any evidence at the scene. We have the note itself. The best thing for us to do is focus on the evidence that we have. It's a solid lead."

She takes a shaky breath in, turns back to stare out the window.

The rest of the ride is silent, and they get out, meet Ryan at the door, and head into her apartment building without a word.

* * *

Once the apartment door is closed behind them, the boys waste no time.

Ryan steps up to her first. "Beckett, you need to tell us whatever you know about what this note says. Obviously it's about your shooting, which means it's also about your mother's murder. I know what this case is like for you, and I know things haven't been exactly easy for you lately, but I need you to focus on this. On Castle. Talk us through what you know."

She takes a deep breath and tries to tell the story as logically as possible without giving too much of herself away.

She forces herself into detective mode, tells herself _just facts for a case_, and she starts.

"Apparently, before Montgomery died, he mailed a file to someone. The information in that file has some sort of power over whoever is behind all of this. Whoever the person with the file is – and Castle didn't know, so I don't either – called Castle and told him that the information would keep them from doing more damage, but only if I stopped investigating. So Castle thought it best to stop me from investigating without telling me about it."

The boys look stunned, but, to their credit, get it together relatively quickly.

"Ok," Ryan starts slowly, "so a file from Montgomery to an unknown third party. That person contacted Castle. And Castle just told you about this. Why? Did something change? Did that person contact him again?"

And this is exactly what she had hoped to avoid.

When she doesn't answer right away, Esposito speaks up. "Beckett, you need to tell us everything. Every. Thing. We can't help you find Castle without knowing everything. And you sure as hell can't do this alone."

She exhales forcefully and stares pointedly at the floor, avoiding eye contact. "We had a falling out. Castle gave it to me because I kicked him out of the precinct." She cringes, waiting for the onslaught of questions, unsure how to answer any of them.

"Kate," – when did her boys start calling her by her first name? she must look _bad_ – "if that part has nothing to do with this, we don't need to know. Just tell us what Castle told you about the case." Ryan's voice is soft, placating, and even though she knows he's essentially using an interrogation technique to get her to talk, she doesn't care. He's right.

So she closes her eyes and thinks back to that moment that feels like forever ago, tries to push past the desperation she could see in his eyes and feel in her gut, and hear the words themselves.

"Well, he told me what I just told you. He also said he had tried to put some things together, that he had some new information." She pauses, gives herself a moment to move past the drama and into the case itself. "I guess he meant whoever contacted him? Maybe connections he was able to come up with based on that?"

The boys are both looking at her expectantly so she stops, raises her eyebrows in question.

"Well, did he physically give you something or did he just tell you?" Ryan finally asks.

"Oh," she blurts out, flushing in embarrassment. "Right." She walks to her bedroom, to the nighttable where she stashed the flash drive, tries not to let herself flash back to the pit of desperation that had opened below her that night.

Except, _oh_, wasn't that so much better than this?

She takes a deep breath (_get it together, Beckett_) and heads back out to the boys, drive in hand. She waves them into her office and starts up her computer.

The minute it takes feels like forever. Her palms start sweating as it occurs to her that she hasn't had an opportunity (_yes, let's call it that_) to look at this on her own.

The screen flashing to life brings her out of it, and she puts the flash drive into the USB port before she can think better of it.

The icon that pops up on her desktop is labeled Beckett and it momentarily takes her breath away.

This is real. He really did this.

And because he did, he's gone.


End file.
